The 51st Hero/Sucker

The next morning, the bell rang.

That cursed, hollow sound that means: New Arrival.

I climbed the hill overlooking the Summoning Grounds. The sky above the circle was already crackling—blue lightning warped the morning haze, bending reality like crumpled paper.

The summoning always happened at dawn. Because nothing says divine hope like sleep deprivation and ritualistic kidnapping.

I was at the edge of the circle, a shovel in my hand.

Don’t know what the shovel is for yet. Just a hunch.

At the center of the glowing circle stood the Church of Heroes in full performance mode. The lesser clerics flanked the platform, chanting in a tongue meant more for drama than meaning. And at the heart of it all was Archcleric Lucien Zain, the so-called Gorgeous Priest.

Ah, who am I kidding. That man is handsome, aging like fine wine.

His only flaw? The prayers he recited were as hollow as a wet sponge: soggy, squishy, and full of nothing.

He stood alone at the circle’s heart, arms raised toward the heavens. His robes fluttered despite the still air and he had a huge smile on his face. Around him, lesser clerics chanted in unison— a rhythmic hum that made my teeth ache.

His smile gleamed. "By sacred pact, through veil and void… let the Chosen arrive!”

Right on cue, the portal opened.

White light blasted out, followed by a gust of otherworldly air—it smelled like wet concrete and cheap deodorant.

And then—

Splat.

Face-first. No grace, no godlight. Just a skinny kid in a wrinkled school uniform with a broken wristwatch and socks that didn’t match.

"Ow... my nose."

Introducing hero#51.

In terms of First Impression, it wasn’t the best. It’s a good thing I had my shovel on hand. I had a gut feeling, that he just might be the one…the one to break record for dying under an hour.

He looked… young. Maybe seventeen? Messy black hair.

Lucien cleared his throat. “Behold! The savior of the realm! The 51st Chosen Hero!”

The crowds shouted and cheered like they’d just witnessed a miracle. Like we hadn’t done this two days ago.

The hero slowly pushed himself up. He looked dazed, skinny. He was dressed in a wrinkled school uniform with a broken watch on his wrist and mismatched socks.

“Where…am I?” he asked.

Mira appeared beside me, arms folded, eyes scanning the scene like a disappointed bouncer.

“He’s a high schooler,” she muttered. “Again.”

“They’re always high schoolers,” I muttered back. “At this point, I’m starting to think their world has a lottery.”

The kid staggered to his feet, blinking at the crowd, then muttered. “Is this… a dream?”

Lucien stood in front of him, flashing his famous pants dropping smile.

“No, young hero. This… is your destiny.”

“Oh God,” the kid said, his face turning green. “This is one of those Isekai things, isn’t it?”

A murmur rippled through the clergy.

I blinked.
That word again.

Callen said it. So did others. For some odd reason, the heroes who said “isekai” had been different. Something about that word made them formidable, more self-aware and they lasted longer than others. I just might be wrong about him lasting less than an hour.

The kid looked around wildly.

“Okay...okay...think, Keiji. Think,” he said out loud. “You’ve watched like a thousand of these. You probably have a cheat skill. Some kind of....Status Window!”

Nothing happened.

“Open Menu!”

Still nothing.

I like this kid, he's pretty funny.

He slapped himself. “System? Hud? Inventory? Magic? Companion Slime?!”

I nudged Mira. “Want to give him the welcome speech? ”

She just stared forward, deadpan. “You’re closer to his level of disillusionment.”

Fair.

I stepped forward. This was another unnoficial job of mine. Welcoming the heroes, showing them around and stuff.

“Morning,” I said. “What is your Name?”

He stared at me. “Huh?”

“Name. You know, the thing people call you with. I need something for the tombstone.”

Mira coughed behind me.

I shrugged. “What? It’s efficient.”

The kid looked pale. He gulped. “Keiji. Keiji Tanaka.”

I nodded. “Hero #51. Keiji. Got it.”

Lucien glared at me, but I ignored him. He’s fired me about three times already. But they keep rehiring me anyway because no one wants this job. 

Cause it doesn’t pay.

Unless you count a place to sleep as payment. I don’t, especially my sleeping arrangements.

Keiji’s was still trying to process everything. “Is this a game? Is this real? Am I supposed to have magic? Or a sword? Or… or secret healing powers?”

I held up the broken summoning badge they pulled from the circle.

“Not yet hero. Just this and whatever’s in your pockets. Sometimes they give you a stick.”

“When you’re ready you can come to my shop and we’ll get you sorted. But for now,” Mira interjected. “Mr. Porter!”

A porter arrives with a burlap bag. “Starter gear,” he said. He dumped it on the platform. Inside was one rusted dagger, half a healing potion, and a soggy piece of jerky.

That last one started as a bad joke but became tradition.

Keiji stared at it like someone just handed him a wet raccoon. “That’s it?!”

I patted him on the back. “Welcome to the kingdom of Halvas. Population: screwed and you.”

Mira went back to her shop and I took our new hero for a joy ride around the Kingdom. The Church of Heroes might run the show, but the kingdom of Halvas was mostly patched ruins. We walked through the Outpost Sector—worn roads, broken rooftops, a shrine to Hero #17 that doubles as a soup stand now. Fun fact Hero#17 still holds the record for the longest alive hero, by around six months. Isn’t that something?

Keiji was quiet. Observant. Absorbing details like a good student waiting for a test.

Heroes are usually given a temporary stay at the Outpost as they await their first mission.The Church always claims it’s temporary housing, but most heroes don’t last long enough to get upgraded anyway.

“You’ll be stationed here,” I told him, showing the barracks: one room, one cot, one bucket.

His eyes widened like he was expecting more.

I don’t know what he is annoyed about, his room is twice as big as mine.

Before we used to give them a mansion at the King’s palace. Until one hero refused to leave the dining hall couch. The record holder himself, Hero#17. Fortunately a Dungeon Beast climbed in through the balcony during a raid and put him out of our misery.

After a while I brought Keiji lunch.

Two boiled potatoes and a wedge of dry bread. Better than most meals I’ve had.

He was sitting on the floor cross-legged, poking at the dagger like it might explode.

“You’ll want to sharpen that,” I said walking in. “Or throw it away. Or both.”

“How do I go home?” he asked taking the dry bread and biting down.

“You don’t.”

“But....but there has to be a way. Like a god Dragon or a final boss or....”

“Listen, kid.” I sighed shaking my head. “There are three ways out of this world: Divine ascension, hero’s glory, or death. Two of those are extremely not recommended.”

He swallowed. “So what do you recommend?”

I looked at him but didn’t answer. Anything I tell him would just be speculation.

I was about to leave when he spoke again.

“Why did they summon me?”

“Because they’re desperate,” I said. “And out of ideas. Because it’s all they’ve ever known. It’s easier than training their own people, I can tell you that.”

I gestured toward the distant hills, where the first dungeon squats like a broken tooth in the landscape.

“That’s where they’ll send you tomorrow. You’ll be given a team. Maybe a Mage and a healer. But don’t worry you’ll get proper training and… a prayer.”

“And then?”

“You fight. And probably die and back to your world.”

Keiji stared at the bread in his hands like it might hold the answer.

Then he said something that made me pause.

“I don’t want to be a hero.”

I raise an eyebrow. “What?”

Who’s this guy? Most heroes even the greedy one loved being heroes. The admiration after completing their first Dungeon? A canon event. The women flocking over them? The best.

But from Keiji’s voice, I could tell he meant it. Which was refreshing to say the least.

“I mean it,” he said standing up and looking towards the dungeon. “I’m not brave. I’m not strong. I suck at gym and I’ve never held a blade before.”

His voice started to break as he fumbled roughly through his hair sitting back down.

“There must be a mistake,” he continued. “Isn’t there like a redo button or something. If it must be a high schooler, there are a few bulky classmates I know. Like…like this guy I was next to is crazy strong and even takes Karate. The only skill I have is taking a nap!”

For a moment, I saw something real in his eyes. It wasn’t something I saw from most of the other heroes. I mean, even though most heroes were forcibly dragged from their homes, when they arrived, they would enjoy their lives here. They helped themselves to our women, some even men. Which made them predictable for the most part.

But here I was standing in front of someone I couldn’t read at all. But it wasn’t just his sudden outburst, but his eyes. They looked dead. The closest eyes I could remember that were similar, were my own through the mirror.

Interesting.

I picked up my shovel. “Congratulations, Keiji Tanaka.”

He blinked. “For what?”

“You just became the most promising idiot this kingdom’s summoned in years.”